


Not What You See

by denorios



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary watches them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What You See

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to farad for encouraging me and not throwing things at my head when yet another fic drops into her inbox.

Mary watches them.

She watches them on horseback, Chris a few paces behind Vin like a shadow. He rides like he shoots, straight and true, back as rigid as a fence post, eyes never wavering from the horizon above his horse's ears, expecting trouble to meet him head on. Vin slouches in the saddle, shoulders slumped and relaxed, eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy, but it's Vin who keeps watch, Vin whose gaze flicks left and right and left again and yet always always returning to Chris. She wonders if Chris knows how much of his own confidence comes from Vin, how he walks through dangers unscathed only because Vin is already there ahead of him clearing the way.

She watches them walking to the saloon. The day is cold and blustery and the fringe on Vin's jacket tugs and waves in the wind. They walk in sync, evenly, steadily, and if Chris is even aware he slows his lengthy stride to match Vin's shorter one he makes no sign of it. Vin's hat blows back off his head, his hair tangles across his face, and Chris laughs and smoothes it back, and he looks so young that for a moment she doesn't recognize him.

She watches Vin in a crowd, wound so tight and intense he shakes, and she can almost see the urge to run rippling across his face. She looks in his eyes and remembers a wounded fox caught in a trap, the desperation and fear and wildness. And Chris steps up behind him and rests a hand on his back and there's a moment before Vin closes his eyes when she almost thinks he'll fight Chris to be free. But Vin sighs and shudders and is still.

She watches Chris watch her, and as hard as she looks she cannot penetrate beneath the courtesy and the politeness and the strange wariness. She wants to see him smile, she wants to see him laugh, but his attention is painful and he handles her like glass. She doesn't know if she'd shatter under his touch; perhaps she'd only break herself against him.

He's not safe, he's about as far from safe as she can comprehend, but she's like a moth to a flame, and she'll burn up in his heat and he won't notice. She wonders sometimes if he'd even care.

She tries not to want Chris. He's too damaged, too broken, and she has no interest in fixing him. She's drawn to him, attracted to him, mystified and undone by him. She tries to imagine lying with him, mending his shirts, cooking him breakfast, sitting by the fire, all the small intimate scenes of a marriage that she remembers so well, but her mind stutters and freezes and all she can see is a dark barren sky and Chris' uneasy smile and Vin.

She thinks she knows the world, she thinks there's nothing left that can shock her, but she's a respectable woman in a man's world and there's a lot she doesn't know and what she sees she doesn't fully understand. There's something between these men that makes her think of darkness and danger, which repels her as much as it intrigues her. Her thoughts turn again and again to Lydia and the fallen women, but it makes no sense, she can't fathom it and it's easier to turn away and forget.

She sees Chris' laughter and Vin's caution and thinks only of how fortunate they are with such a friendship. When they drink absently from the same whiskey glass and smile without words she sees only the companionship of the saloon. When Vin stands so close to Chris his chest brushes against his back, she sees concern and protection. When they push and shove and Chris is so angry his words snarl, she sees male pride and frustration, and she turns away too quickly to catch fingers touching, eyes softening.

She remembers love as heavy hands and soft skin, curves and hard flanks, a man's determination and a woman's gentleness, whispered words of love and devotion in the darkness and the quiet. She knows nothing of strength matched by strength, hands leaving bruises on rough hips, sharp teeth biting at muscle and sinew, feelings expressed through anger and fear. She knows nothing of the desperation and agony of stolen secret moments.

She watches Chris fall in the street, red blossoming across his shirt, and Vin's despairing cry makes it real, because other people fall and hurt and Vin is calm and controlled, and if Vin is on his knees clutching Chris then it must be real.

She watches Vin's hands as they cradle Chris against him like something precious and breakable, as they stroke through his hair and press against his cheek, watches his eyes as they hold on to Chris', watches his mouth as he begs and pleads and whispers. She watches as he stands pale and lost in the street when Nathan and Buck carry Chris to the clinic, and he stares at the pool of blood in the dirt and trembles.

And later, much later, she watches Vin stand by Chris as he sleeps, one hand on his shoulder, and she imagines the strength and healing in that touch and the almost absurd gentleness. Chris wakes, stirs, looks up, and the gaze between them is long and steady and she wonders what they see, in the space between, what they see when they look at each other, and something dances behind her eyes and she almost thinks, _oh_...


End file.
